


The Scent of Dedication, Sweat and Leather Armour

by ImhereImQuire



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Scent Kink, Underwear Kink, Unrequited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-05
Updated: 2013-01-05
Packaged: 2017-11-23 19:13:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/625618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImhereImQuire/pseuds/ImhereImQuire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Satin has a crush on Jon and a fetishistic interest in his undergarments.</p><p>Written in response to a prompt from the ASOIAF kink meme: Satin's duties include cleaning Jon's clothing, but sometimes he keeps certain items because he loves the way Jon smells. Maybe Jon catches him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Scent of Dedication, Sweat and Leather Armour

Jon was not his usual type. His preferred type of man was older than him, articulate and sophisticated like the merchant prince from Qarth who used to bring him presents of spices wrapped in silk hankies, or the more interesting maesters who came to him from the citadel. Jon might have been almost highborn and castle-raised, and the Lord Commander, but he was even younger than Satin; sulky and sullen and like many northmen he spoke his words as though they were on ration. He was not his type at all except for having a certain arrogance to him which Satin had always found more appealing than modesty, and an icy authority to him that suited his station. And when he fought he was delicious; all messy hair and flushed cheeks, a mixture of strength and purpose that transformed him from a sullen youth to the warrior incarnate.  

                Even so Satin could have comfortably lived without the new elected Lord Commander until he went and became his hero, taking him on as his personal steward… a role which came with considerable prestige and more than a few perks, the most important of which was being taken out of the barracks and into the Lord’s own room. It was more than a matter of comfort or pride for him, for there was little safety in sleep for a young man who could pass for a maid in dim light, especially not one whose reputation as a whore had made him fair game in the eyes of too many of the men.

Satin was never sure what Jon had seen or what he’d heard, but though the Lord Commander never acknowledged it, and waved away Satin’s thanks with a gruff ‘you got it on merit, thank yourself’ whenever he tried to broach it, Satin knew that taking him on had been act of mercy.

                He’d wondered if there was any more to it than that, at first, of course. Jon was honourable enough that Satin had not really entertained the prospect that his lord was using his power to buy himself a bedwarmer, but such spectacular acts of kindness were rarely altruistic. Jon had gone to the wall willingly, and it was a way to avoid the inevitable ring of wedding bells if nothing else, so Satin suspected that the Lord Commander might have been sweet on him,and had awaited the moment when the other would make his move.

And waited. And waited. He held himself poised for it In the evenings, when he attended the lord as he studied schedules and maps and supply lists, and kept himself awake in anticipation of it at night when he lay upon the pallet across from the other’s bed, listening to the quiet sound of his breathing, not slow enough for a man sleeping.

The advance never came though and the longer it went on and the more unlikely it became the more disappointed Satin grew.  At first he thought it was simply the sting of pride. He’d had plenty of men he hadn’t wanted but Jon was the first that he had failed to land that he did and it irked him, as a matter of pride, if nothing else. That was all there was to it, he tried to convince himself, but it didn’t do anything to lessen his frustration and Satin grew tired of waiting.

In exasperation the steward began to drop heavier and heavier hints, signalling his availability in the hopes that Jon was merely being naive. Satin complained about the coldness and lack of comfort of his own bed. He made a point of sitting close by his lord in the evenings and complimented him on his scent, even though it was little more than the smell of boy, sweat and leather. He contrived more occasions for them to see one another naked than even the most naïve of men couldn't have put down to coincidence and offered to rub his aches at the end of the day. But it was all to no avail for Jon made no move upon him, nor looked at anything more than confusion at his bawdier come ons.

The more he was ignored the more he longed for some sign that his infatuation was mutual, and when none came it hit him harder than perhaps it ought. Satin tried to convince himself that he should have taken it as a sign that he was worthy of kindness beyond that which he could secure with his own body, but it was scant consolation for the other’s lack of desire for him and instead he felt wretched when he watched Jon from beneath lowered lashes in the evenings, as he darned the rips where Jon had stepped upon his cloak upon the stair, or mulled and poured his wine. This is wife’s work he thought to himself, feeling inexplicably bitter at the thought. All of it. The sewing, and laundering, and serving, and clearing. And he did it with a devotion which deepened every day, with the boy he had been back in Oldtown laughing at him from the past, watching him playing wife-by-another-name to a young man who did not want him, he who had once been able to make a good living off the desires of men. He hated it. He hated himself.

One day he was changing the sheets of the Lord Commander’s bed when he found a pair of discarded small clothes, trapped between bed and wall. It was instinct when he first rose them toward his face, a means of telling whether they were a fresh pair that he had laid out for Jon and had been neglected, or a worn pair which has been taken off beneath the furs sometime in the night; a simple means of assessing if they were to be put in the chest, or taken to the tubs, that was all. But then he got a nose-full of Jon’s scent and all thoughts of laundering went from his head. He found himself sat upon his bed with his face buried in the linen, hiding a a grin which was shamelessly fond. This was Jon; the essence of him, infused in the cloth, writ in the scent of sage that lined his trunk, and the feral musk that clung to him. It was the scent of dedication, of sweat and leather armour, and, Satin was convinced, illicitly spilled seed. Jon had been tossing himself off, Satin thought, somewhere between amused and aroused at the thought of it.

The realisation hit him that it had likely been when they were in bed; that and Jon had been furtively stroking his cock in the dark, with him lay no more than a few feet away and his smirk broadened.  “Oh, Jon… that’s filthy” he chuckled under his breath, sliding a hand to the laces of his breeches. He had loosened the knots and had just got his hand about his cock when the door opened and the man himself appeared. Immediately Satin’s hand withdrew and he threw the incriminating smallclothes behind his back, sitting on them and doing his best to look as innocent as a young man could with an erection which suddenly felt all too obvious.

Later on that night, when the fire had been reduced to dying embers and Jon’s breathing had fallen into the same slow, heavy rhythm as Ghost’s Satin was still restless. The stolen undergarments beneath his pillow were a forbidden treasure that his mind found itself wandering back to each time he veered toward sleep, and there was only one way he would find rest tonight. With a furtive peek over to the motionless mound of furs in the bed across from him he took the smallclothes from their hiding place and laid them out carefully upon his pillow. Then, after a moment of listening intently for any sign that the other boy was awake, he rolled upon his front and began to rub his face against the cloth, breathing in the heady scent; wild and heady, man and wolf in even measure.

It was the same scent that had clung to his clothing on the few bitterly cold nights when Satin had been able to prevail upon his commander to share the bed for warmth, but while that was only a hint there was nothing subtle about this, and it had him stiffer than he’d been in as long as he could remember. He snuck his hand between himself and the mattress without a second’s hesitation, idly toying with his cock for a moment before palming himself in earnest. It was not hard to imagine Jon doing the same; Jon stroking himself and thinking of him as he did, becoming flushed and fevered, barely able to restrain himself from leaving his bed and taking his fill of his steward, which naturally led Satin to filthier thoughts, for it was not hard to think of the other youth losing will to resist him crumbling and doing just that, kicking back the blankets and sliding into his bed, skin meeting skin, mouth finding mouth, cock rubbing cock.

Satin varied the motion of his hand then, seeking to find a rhythm that fit his idea of the young man who lay sleeping opposite. Jon would be firm of hand, Satin thought to himself… a little clumsy at first, but he’d soon catch on, if the way that the other had taught him to grip a sword was any indication. And if he wasn’t so quick to learn then he could teach the lord, Satin decided, showing Jon how to invert his hand so that he could work his shaft the way that the other might handle his own. The Lord Commander had already shown him so much that it was only fair that he repay the favour, after all, and this was his area of expertise. “There, like that… that’s it” he mouthed against the wool, forming the words with his lips without making a sound. He stroked himself with the slowness of a novice for as long as he could bear, long and steady, as Jon might while he adjusted to the strangeness of the angle, until he could stand it no more. ‘No’ he thought to himself, imagining how his hand would guide the other’s to the same hard, swift motion he’d pictured Jon pleasuring himself, and imitating it accordingly. ‘The way you palmed yourself, thinking of me’… and that was the thought that combined with the gasped in breath of the other’s feral scent to get Satin’s hips rocking against the mattress, then, moments later, spilling into his hand…

“Oh, leave it alone, Satin” came a sleepy grumble from the other side of the room. “I want to oversee the early shift this morning.”

Satin’s eyes widened, and he felt his cheeks turn red as the robes of Stannis’ witch, shamed more by the clear lack of interest than the fact that he’d been caught giving himself a rub. He swallowed thickly, once and again, before croaking out a reply. “Sorry, my lord.”

‘Really. Fucking. Sorry’ he thought to himself bitterly.


End file.
